


We Belong Together

by brookebond



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Drunk Arthur, M/M, arthur makes questionable choices, he is a sweetie though, long suffering eames, tequila makes people do stupid things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 15:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11316033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: Arthur fucked up and tries to make it better.





	We Belong Together

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 100% inspired by the Pat Benatar song 'We Belong'.  
> If you haven't heard it, go youtube it right now. Seriously.  
> You don't need to know the song to appreciate the fic though. I just think it's a great addition!
> 
> Thank you QueenThayet for betaing this and making it even better!

Arthur gripped the rail, cursing the humid weather for his sweaty palms. That was what he was going to stick with, not the half bottle of tequila he had consumed. He hated Alabama, not just because of the humidity and the accents but because of how much it reminded him of home. He generally actively avoided going to the South purely so he wouldn’t have to remember everything he had left behind.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself over the railing and onto the balcony with only minimal grunting and moaning. Vaguely he wondered if he should have been worried about someone calling security and getting him kicked out. But it was only vaguely. The only thought on his mind was apologising to Eames. He had to make Eames know just how sorry he was. How much he regretted saying those things.

It might have been the tequila talking, but Arthur didn’t care; climbing onto Eames’ balcony to profess his feelings was the best decision Arthur had  _ ever _ come up with.

“Eames,” Arthur called as he knocked on the glass. “Eames, open up.”

He probably should have checked the time before hauling his ass up three stories via balconies while he was trashed. He probably should have thought about whether or not Eames was actually awake. But that would have required thinking at all, which was not a hallmark of tequila. Instead, those thoughts didn’t register until he was already on the balcony, and they still couldn’t bring him to back down. Not when he was this close, not when he was ready to apologise for the first time in his life.

He tapped the glass again, calling out Eames’ name.

There still wasn’t any sound of stirring from the other side. Arthur worried his lip, frantically trying to bring up a map of the hotel in his head. He was positive he’d gotten the right balcony. Things were about to get super awkward if he hadn’t.

“I know I shouldn’t have implied you were fucking Brian, but come on. You practically had your tongue down his throat. Okay, maybe it was a dream and that was the job, but really? Can you blame me? Obviously you do… But, fuck...” he mumbled, pressing his forehead against the cool glass.

This wasn’t going as he had planned. Eames was supposed to have opened the door by now, not just leave Arthur out in the disgustingly heavy air. He fucking  _ hated _ the South.

“I love you. Did you know that?” he continued, desperate to drag Eames to the door. “I can’t think of anything else. It’s always you in here. Eames, 24/7. And it drives me crazy sometimes. I know I don’t give you the time of day half the time but, you know that, right? That I love you so much it hurts.”

Silence was all Arthur got. No matter how much he banged on the glass or how loudly he called for Eames. However, Arthur  _ had _ gotten a few rude comments from some of Eames’ unfortunate neighbours, which he had responded to with absolute aplomb, of course. Arthur was never going to be able to show his face at this hotel again. Not that he cared, if he could help it, Arthur was never going to set foot in Alabama ever again.

“Eames, come on. Open up,” he pleaded, fingers tapping an offbeat staccato.

“You make me want to listen to all those cheesy love songs. Those stupid power ballads you love,” he professed, the combination of tequila and remorse letting all his embarrassing secrets slip out. “If you don’t open this door right now, I’ll start singing.” He tapped his foot, waiting for Eames to give in, to open the door and accept Arthur’s apology with a kiss.

But Eames didn’t open the door, didn’t turn on a light, didn’t open the curtain to look at Arthur with a horrified expression. Now he was going to have to follow through on his threat.

Arthur took a deep breath before belting out, “we belong to the light, we belong to the thunder.”

A light turned on behind the curtain, dim but it was still something.

“We belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under.”

Arthur could hear shuffling and grumbling. Progress.

“Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better.”

The curtains parted and finally Arthur smiled at Eames, ecstatic that his show finally had an audience.

“We belong, we belong, we belong together,” he finished flatly.

The door opened a fraction, enough for some of the air conditioned air to cool Arthur slightly.

“Do you know what time it is?” Eames asked, rubbing a hand over his hair, making it stick up more than it already was.

Arthur licked his lips, fingers itching to join in. “Twenty-three minutes past four in the morning.”

“Of course you know the exact time. You could probably count the seconds as well, couldn’t you?” Eames sighed.

Arthur nodded, the seconds ticking away in his head despite the cotton wool feeling the tequila had left him with.

“I love you,” he blurted out.

“I know,” Eames murmured.

“I’m sorry.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Arthur’s heart pounding furiously as he waited for Eames to turn him away. Waited for Eames to shut the door in his face.

“Get in here, you idiot,” Eames growled, fingers curling in the front of Arthur’s shirt and pulling him through the balcony door.

“Oh thank God,” Arthur muttered as he went easily, colliding with Eames’ solid chest and wrapping his arms around Eames’ waist. “I thought you were going to leave me out there all night.”

“I considered it,” Eames whispered, pressing his lips to Arthur’s neck. “I should have. I could make you go back out there, if you’d prefer.”

“No, please don’t. Eames, I wanna be here with you. Don’t make me go back out there,” Arthur pleaded in a rush. Now that he was inside, he never wanted to be out again.

“I can’t believe you sang Pat Benatar,” Eames chuckled.

“You have no idea what I’d do for you, Eames.”

“I think I do, darling.”

They stood, holding one another, Eames’ lips pressed to Arthur’s neck for what felt like hours but when Arthur mentally calculated, had actually only been five minutes. It was more than enough to centre him, to make him feel as though things were right in the world again.

“Arthur,” Eames started, pulling back to look at Arthur properly. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Um… Half a bottle of… tu...tea.. that yellowy stuff?”

“Tequila,” Eames offered and Arthur nodded. How had he forgotten that? Maybe he’d drunk more than he thought. “Let’s get you into bed.” Eames manhandled Arthur to the bed, stripping off his sticky, sweaty clothes as they went.

Arthur wanted to return the favour, get Eames undressed and press his lips to Eames’ tattoos like he loved. But the room was spinning and suddenly his knees collided with the bed.

Eames pushed him down, letting Arthur burrow into the blankets and inhale deeply.

“Smells like you,” Arthur muttered, wrapping his arms around the pillow that had the strongest scent.

“Tends to happen when you actually sleep in a bed, love,” Eames chided, prodding Arthur’s shoulder until he sat up. “Drink this. It’ll help in the morning.”

Arthur grabbed the glass with both hands, gulping the water down. It felt heavenly; cool and refreshing. He smacked his lips when the glass was empty, holding it out for Eames to take. “Thank you.”

“You really are a right git.”

Arthur nodded solemnly. “The gittiest. Or the rightest? Definitely the luckiest git,” he amended.

“Too right,” Eames agreed, pressing a gentle kiss to Arthur’s temple. “Sleep. We can talk more about how much of a twat you are in the morning.”

“You love me,” Arthur murmured, burrowing into the blankets again.

“Fuck knows why, but yes, darling, I really do.”

Arthur smiled and swapped cuddling the pillow for snuggling with Eames when he finally climbed into the bed. He fell asleep to the steady beat of Eames’ heart.


End file.
